


Needlepoint

by Appledoom



Category: RWBY
Genre: Hinted monochrome, first fic I'm not very good at this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:23:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9294257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Appledoom/pseuds/Appledoom
Summary: A sort of introspection.This was written before 4-9 aired so...I'm bad at summarys.





	

Atlas was boring this time of year.

Who was she kidding? Atlas was boring every time of the year.

At least now it was. The former heiress to the Schnee Dust Company pondered as she worked on her latest creation. A recreation of the moon, sown forever in silver silks. Needlepoint had become her favorite pastime over the last few months. Lucky for her as it was one of the only pastimes her father would allow her to have.

The first thing he took was her title, the second, her freedom. She took to training in her room alone for about a week until her father took away Myrtenaster. Stating that she “wouldn't need it anymore.” She was barred from exiting the interior of the house after she tried to continue physical training. He took away her scroll after he saw her trying to contact someone, anyone, to try and get her out of here. And finally, after a rather explosive argument with Whitley two weeks ago, she was no longer allowed to leave her room. Her door was locked from the outside and anything she needed, anything approved beforehand by her father, would be brought to her by Klein or another member of staff with a simple ring of a bell. It was an awful existence.

Weiss stopped her work for a moment. Thinking back on these events were depressing. She had been angry at first of course, but as time went on she realized how much worse it could be. After all, her father hadn't touched her sense the aftermath of the charity concert. He could have been a lot angrier through all this. She rubbed her cheek where his hand had hit her many more times than she would like to remember. He was stressed and she had been in the wrong. She repeated that statement several times to herself, convinced that if she said it enough it would somehow make her feel better about the whole thing.

With a heavy sigh she went back to her work. Her father had been happy that she found a hobby he approved of. Her mother had taught her to sew and embroider many years ago when she was still young and her family was still whole. It was one of the few happy memories she had before she began at Beacon. Her and her mother sitting together by the fire, Whitley napping nearby while Winter had lost patience with the activity long ago. The first sampler she made still hung on the wall of her room, the misshapen letters and clumsy stitches reminded her of a simpler time when she wasn't expected to be perfect. 

Suddenly the stitchery in front of her became blurry. Before she could even realized what was happening, fat tear drops began to fall on the fabric. She quickly jerked her head upwards and wiped her eyes, trying not to let her emotions get the better of her. As disenfranchised as she was, she was still a Schnee. She would not let this beat her. 

After a moment or two of wiping her eyes, Weiss turned her attention back to her project. She had only a few more stitches left before it was completed. She tied the thread down and removed the fabric from the hoop. She was proud of her creation, she had spent many hours perfecting the shape of each fragment of the full moon. After all, what else would she spend that time on.

With that last thought Weiss could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again. She shook her head and put the stitchery on top of her rather large pile of other works.

In a single week Weiss had managed to finish 17 different works. Along with her just finished moon was a redo of sorts of her first sampler, a stylized beowolf attacking the viewer (which Klein said made him as terrified as if it was the real thing), and different insignia that she had come across. The Schnee snowflake, Ruby’s rose, Beacon’s axes, etc. A few of the larger pieces were recreations of memories at Beacon, she was most proud of those. Her father had never commented on her work, a relief really, so she didn't feel pressure of his gaze. She looked at the different images with a feeling of sadness and regret. Memories of Beacon and team RWBY filled her mind. Ruby exploding when they first met, the dance, the vytal festival, mountain glen, fighting the nevermore during initiation, the reveal of Blake’s Faunus heritage… As the memories flooded in Weiss didn't notice when she started crying again, she didn't notice when she fell to her knees, she didn't notice when her silent tears became heavy sobs as she was filled with regret. 

She had never gotten the chance to tell them. Never gotten the chance to tell any of them how much they had come to mean to her. How much she missed Ruby’s laugh, Yang’s attitude, and Blake’s….

Blake

She missed Blake the most.

She hadn't even realized before this moment how much she missed Blake.

How much she wished she could tell her how she felt.

What she had been through in the last few months

What she wanted them to do in the future, together.

But now she would never get that chance.

She was going to be locked in here for the rest of her life.

She was going to die in this room.

Weiss stood up, filled with all her regrets and anger she looked around her room. She stopped when she made eye contact with herself. A mirror was placed on the far side of her room near her bed. The hour had grown late, and the only light on this side of the room came from the full moon outside. She looked at herself.

She was a mere shadow of herself now, somehow even paler than she was before. Her skin was now almost translucent. Her cheekbones even more pronounced as her cheeks seemed to cave in on themselves. Even with her inability to exercise as of late she had been losing weight rapidly. She just had no real interest in eating anymore. 

She looked deep into her now dull eyes and once again began to sob. This is what she had become. With a sudden burst of anger, Weiss lifted up her fist and struck the mirror. With a loud smash it shattered into hundreds of little pieces. She yelled out in shock, a few of those pieces embedded in her fist. She stumbled back in shock, surprised less by the pain and more by the fact that she actually did that.

At that moment her door opened.

Alerted by the sound of broken glass, Klein rushed into Weiss's room. When he saw the broken mirror and Weiss lying in shock on the floor he sighed and went over to her. He remained silent, as he didn't know what to even say to her. As she had become more and more depressed the less and less he felt like he could help her. So now he just silently did what he could. He helped her stand up, sat her down on her bed, and left to go get first aid supplies and a broom for the glass. 

As he left Weiss came back to her senses. Gritting in pain, she removed the larger shards of glass from her hand and used her aura to heal up the smaller cuts. She looked at the glass scattered on the floor and was filled with a sad sort of inspiration. She walked over to her box of embroidery silks, selected the whites, silvers, blacks, and reds she needed and sat down to begin another piece. This time of a shattered girl looking in a shattered mirror, but just as she started to work she was interrupted. 

Not by Klein coming back,

But by a knock at the window.

And a pair of black cat ears visible outside.


End file.
